Ellie vs Major John Casey
by verkisto
Summary: They had a situation to work through, and it was going to take some thought. Please heed the rating. Ellie/Casey.
1. The Situation

_**Warning: descriptions of heterosexual situations and coarse language.**_

Chapter 1: The Situation

Ellie curled up in the corner of the sofa and pulled a cushion towards herself, hugging it into her middle. She chewed a bit on the side of her thumb and watched Devon out of the corners of her eyes as he threw back his head and laughed, pointing to the TV screen and saying, "Man, I bet that kid's stones are gonna hurt for a week."

It had been his turn to pick what they were watching tonight, and of course it was some stupid Xtreme sports show about idiots with no brains trying to kill themselves. Ellie had even read up on the psychology of it once, trying to understand why Devon, a doctor, would endanger himself like that with all his rock climbing and kite surfing and bungee jumping. The only conclusion she could come to was that it was his way of nose-thumbing death in the face, the death that he was all too familiar with at the hospital, that same death she was familiar with as well.

Ellie stopped chewing – stopped breathing – as she made a final connection in her brain that caused her to gasp slightly. When Devon did these things, he was searching for life, searching for things that made his heart pound, his blood boil, his emotions come alive. It all made so much sense to her now.

Ellie, not wanting Devon to see her epiphany – not that he was paying the least bit of attention to her anyway – jumped up from the couch and blurted out a hurried, "Going to have a bath, hon," before running into the bathroom and locking the door.

It explained so much, what she had just realized. Why a woman in a stable, long-term, loving relationship with a wonderful man like Devon would hear that tiny ping at her first glimpse of another man, the man who had come to her door unexpectedly – uninvited, in fact – flashing a charming smile and offering a plate of mini quiches, pushing his way in through her door, worming his way into her life, working his way into her consciousness so that she couldn't seem to get him out. If she even wanted to try anymore, that is.

Ellie ran hot water into the tub and opened the cupboard to find some scented bath salts. Pouring in a liberal amount and taking off her scrubs and underwear, she quickly fastened her long rope of thick, dark hair up on top of her head with a scrunchie and turned the water off, getting carefully into the tub and easing herself into the steamy, soothing water.

It might take some time to work this through, and Ellie hoped that Devon would be occupied for a while and not interrupt her with his child-like demands for attention. This thought brought her back to her developing thesis about the John Casey situation, and she closed her eyes to better concentrate.

Ellie's mind went back to her sexual awakening – no, she was going to have to start long before that. Sexual awareness.

She was twelve. It was summer, and four of them were playing near the old gravel quarry, Ellie and Chuck and two of the neighborhood boys Chuck's age, when a man from down the street, Mr. Clonmore, walked by. The children were out of breath and flushed from running around, playing a tag game they had made up that involved throwing stones at an old oil drum for points and avoiding the touch of the other players.

Ellie's tee shirt was soaked down the front with her sweat and clinging to her chest. Her mother had mentioned the week before that it was time her growing girl got a training bra, but Ellie had made a face, preferring to still be just one of the little kids, one of the boys, and she had put the prospect out of her mind. But that didn't make the small buds of her developing breasts go away, and that didn't stop the tee shirt from outlining them as clearly as if she hadn't been wearing any shirt at all, and that didn't stop Mr. Clonmore from staring intently at her and licking his lips in a way that Ellie instinctively knew was different than any man had looked at her before and, without explaining why she had changed her mind, she got her mother to take her to the store the next day.

Fast forward to high school, junior year. Ellie wasn't interested in boys. At least not in that way. Sure, she cut pictures out of _Tiger Beat_ magazine and put them up on her bedroom wall the way her friends did and swooned over frothy pop songs that spoke of love and movies that ended with a chaste kiss, but she was completely oblivious to the boys circling her like vultures, their hands, unseen by Ellie, quickly adjusting their young genitals as she walked by, giggling with her girlfriends, ignoring them.

Then she was on her first date, which she only consented to because her girlfriend Tracey wanted to go out with a boy and Tracey's mother wouldn't let them go to the movies alone. So Ellie had grudgingly agreed to double, and she spent the whole evening trying to free her hand from her date's squishy, sweaty grip and avoid his fetid breath when he moved in to kiss her. Ellie knew it wasn't polite but she finally forestalled him with a long, drawn-out "Ewwwwwww," after he had managed to mash his cold, damp lips onto her tight mouth for a couple of seconds before she could get out of the way. He never asked her out again.

Something shifted by sophomore year, though, and Ellie changed her tune. She suddenly wanted to kiss boys, tease them, tease herself to the edge of temptation, then back off according to the unwritten rules of the time. But she never sought them out, never pursued them. On the contrary, they constantly hung around her, phoning at all hours of the day and night until her mother put her foot down and started chasing them away, which mortified Ellie no end.

Finally, it was senior year and things were settling down a bit. The captain of the swim team had been her steady boyfriend for four whole months and she even let him take her top and bra off one night so he could kiss her breasts and suck her nipples, and she squirmed her hips, still in her jeans, rubbing her crotch against his swiftly hardening penis until he came in his pants, and she tried not to laugh behind her hand as he cried from embarrassment in her arms.

After an uneventful senior prom, during which she drank too much spiked punch and after which the swim team captain took her home early because he was a gentleman, Ellie graduated and moved to LA to start her undergraduate studies, and that's when she met Devon. Wonderful, sweet, kind Devon. Devon with his generous, gentle nature, engaging smile, rock-hard six pack and long, thick cock, and Ellie was glad she had waited as he gently pushed into her and then broke through with a sudden quick jab that first time, a look of concern and inquiry on his face.

Ellie thought at first that the pain was going to kill her, and she struggled to get him out of her, scrabbling with her legs and whimpering. Then all of a sudden it started to feel different, and as the pain faded, it was replaced by a fiery surge from her deep center, and when her brain registered the friction of his penis inside of her, sliding slowly in and out at first and then speeding up as the muscles in Devon's face relaxed and his eyes took on a faraway look, she let herself go and clutched him to her fiercely, arching her neck and tilting her pelvis towards him, wanting more of the wet, hot waves engulfing her body.

And that's pretty much how it was with Devon from that moment. She hadn't wanted anyone else. Why would she? He was always considerate of her, in the bedroom and out, and he more than satisfied her sexual needs. Sure, he was absorbed in his sports, but then she had her cooking to hold her interest and, other than eating everything she placed in front of him, he wasn't involved in that, so it worked out okay.

Except now there was another man who also ate her food. A man who was as completely unlike sweet, guileless Devon as any man could possibly be, and Ellie frowned and turned on the hot water tap to top up the tub before resuming her analysis of why she was so drawn to this man, this John Casey.

* * *

Casey relaxed into his big leather lounger, popping the foot rest and settling his long legs on top of it, watching his toes wiggle out their tensions as he reached for the bottle of scotch on the table beside him to top up his glass. He pulled a couple more ice cubes from the small insulated silver bucket he had placed there and plopped them in, careful not to make the liquor splash over the sides. This was a situation that was going to take a little time to work through, and he didn't want to have to get up and down for supplies.

The situation in question was Ellie Bartowski, Chuck's sister. Chuck, the asset. The fucking Intersect's sister. So how was he going to handle it?

Casey was aware of the problem from the moment it began, of course. When he smiled and handed her that plate of mini quiches, about six different emotions flashed across her face and eyes in the space of about two seconds, if Casey was any judge – and he was.

He first saw annoyance at his unheralded arrival to her already-crowded dining room; then a pause as her skin detected his sweat pheromones; next, surprise as the jolt hit her; wonder as she slid her eyes upwards to take in his broad smile and broad shoulders; and finally, the twin emotions of curiosity and excitement, and he watched her pupils dilate as she smiled and invited him in.

Casey recognized each discrete step after years of training that began long before he was admitted to the Academy. It started when he was twelve years old, as a matter of fact, the first time he awakened from a dream about the baby-sitter and groped in his pajama bottoms for his little cock, now going limp, feeling the wet, viscous semen covering everything.

He sopped it up as best he could with his pajamas, still not sure exactly what had happened, and washed and dried his hands, genitals and thighs in the bathroom before dressing and running down to the kitchen to ask his mother.

She stood stock still at the counter where she had been beating eggs for an omelet and, without turning around, told Casey to go and ask his father, and he ran away blithely to do so.

Once his father explained the situation, Casey was satisfied and went out to play baseball with his little brother, forgetting all about the matter until the following Saturday when the baby-sitter of his fevered dream came over so his parents could have a night out.

After Casey's parents left, the sitter, who was quite old, sixteen or seventeen, let her boyfriend in through the back door and, when she thought the two boys were playing in the rec room downstairs, they made out on the couch, hot and heavy. But Casey crept up the stairs when he heard the strange noises coming from the living room and watched in awe as the boyfriend opened the sitter's blouse and pulled up her bra, giving Casey full view of both breasts before leaning in to do whatever it was he was doing to her.

Later, when the baby-sitter came up to help Casey and his brother into bed, she became impatient with him when he tried to squirm out of her grasp. Her annoyance turned to surprise when she tugged his pants down and was almost hit in the face by his full erection, and she was downright shocked when he grabbed himself in an effort to save the situation but instead quickly came all over the front of her blouse, soaking the breasts that had started it all with an unnaturally large amount of hot, sticky fluid.

Casey smiled and took a sip of his scotch before jumping ahead in his memory three or so years. Shortly after the pajama incident, he had started a massive growth spurt that caused his joints and muscles to ache almost constantly and caused his parents to start complaining about how much it was costing to keep him in new clothes.

His coordination hadn't caught up with his limbs yet, and he lurched around the town and his school like a baby giraffe, wearing his too-short pants – "flood pants," the kids called them behind his back – and shirts with sleeves that missed his wrists by at least a couple of inches. Add in the usual case of acne and indifferent-teenage-boy hygiene, and you had a surefire recipe for no sex, not even a fumbled grope in a dark movie theater.

Then his little brother had died from the flu that winter and his mother had started to drink, distancing herself more and more from Casey and his father. She finally just left one day. After giving him a hug and a kiss and saying she would be back soon, she picked up her suitcase and walked out the door without a backward glance.

Casey took up a paper route to help out the family that was now smaller by half, and he rode around town on his bike every day, finishing his route at the last house on Washington Street. Since it had once been part of a large estate that had been severed to build new houses after the Second World War, it was older and bigger than the other houses and set quite a ways back from the street.

The Widow Lady lived there. That's what all the kids called her and it made her sound old, but she wasn't that old, really. Casey had heard she was only twenty or twenty-one, which didn't seem so ancient to him now that he was a bit older. Her husband had died in an accident at the plant, something to do with a forklift, and Casey saw her day after day as she came outside to pick up the newspaper that he tossed onto her front porch, a sad, faraway look on her face.

One day, just to see what would happen, he purposely threw short and the newspaper bounced onto the lawn about ten feet from the porch. The woman came out and stood near the door, not venturing down to the lawn to get it, and Casey, feeling ashamed that he had played this trick on her, got off of his bike and wheeled it past the gate, scooping up the paper and bringing it to the edge of the porch, holding it out for her to take.

He never could clearly recall exactly what had happened next, but when he was once more aware of his surroundings, he was naked and lying next to the woman's pale body in a big bed upstairs, stiff with fear as she coaxed him to relax and, when he eventually did, stiff with something else, and he entered her, sliding his throbbing member in and out, tentatively at first while she whispered instructions into his ear and then more confidently as he got the hang of it, euphoric from the sensations crowding his body and brain when he came this time and sorry when it was over so soon.

When he got home later than usual from his paper route to a supper gone cold, Casey caught hell from his father, but since he figured it had been worth it, he decided the best thing to do was pedal like the wind to leave more time for his "final delivery," and he now dragged his bike around to the back of the house and let himself in every afternoon, running upstairs in eager anticipation.

Once, he asked The Widow Lady why she chose him, and she smiled slyly and replied that he only needed to wait a year or two and he wouldn't be able to beat the girls off with a stick, they would be coming at him so fast, and Casey, who couldn't imagine it, hoped against hope that it would come true.

The daily fresh air and vigorous exercise probably contributed to the next change in Casey and, as he continued to sprout up, he was also beginning to fill out. The early and frequent sexual activity helped to clear his acne sooner than the other boys his age and, lo and behold, The Widow Lady was right. After she moved away to another town, Casey turned his attention to the local girls, who were by this time pretty much creaming their panties whenever he strutted down the halls at school, chest thrust out, head held high.

From then on, sex for Casey was kind of like shooting fish in a barrel. By the time he graduated high school, he was bored with the usual small-town backseat shenanigans and ready to experiment, and he moved to the nearby city to go to college. Surveying the campus on that first day, ogling the talent, he decided that college girls were just the ticket.

But when he settled into dorm life, Casey was shocked to discover he now had lots of worthy competition, and that realization helped him decide to join the ROTC so he could wear a uniform and then remove it often or, better yet, let some hot, wet co-ed remove it from him and practice gymnastics on his cock.

After he finished school and the rest of his officer training and finally returned from two short tours in the Gulf, Casey had understandably matured, as had his taste in women, and he preferred to stay with one woman for a few weeks or a few months, getting to know her better as a person, so that by the time General Beckman recruited him into the Academy to begin training for the NSA, he had tempered his sexual activity so it no longer controlled him. He still enjoyed sex, lots of it, but he could manage without it as long as he had a good magazine to hand and, after learning about Tantric practices, could even go completely without for relatively long periods of time, which was to come in handy while he was in deep cover for several years in Eastern Europe.

And he also learned new things during his Academy training: how to gauge women – and men, for that matter – and use their sexual impulses against them, taking extensive courses in the seduction of women and sexual technique that, frankly, left him a little jaded and subject to boredom in the bedroom if things ended up being too predictable.

He went through his no-holds-barred period about this time, experimenting in a few areas – some bondage and group sex and the like – finally coming to the conclusion that it wasn't his thing, and he once again concentrated his attentions on women, becoming very choosy, selecting intelligent, classy women who, underneath, were smoldering volcanoes, and he was now very satisfied with where he had ended up.

Which brought him full circle back to the original problem: the intelligent, classy, smoldering volcano woman who was the Intersect's sister, Ellie Bartowski.


	2. The Attraction and the Fantasy

_**Warning: descriptions of heterosexual situations and coarse language.**_

Chapter 2: The Attraction and the Fantasy

Ellie sighed and slipped farther under the water, feeling the loose hair on the back of her head floating in a little halo behind her neck before it submerged into wetness. She blew air into the tub until the bubbles tickled and splashed droplets into her eyes, then sat up straight so she could wipe it away with a wet hand. Settling down again under the water, she picked up where she had left off to continue working through her thoughts.

Oh, yes. Why she was drawn to John Casey. Well, first, everybody was, in their own way. Obviously, he was the most basic embodiment of an Alpha male. But so was Devon, so there was probably some kind of pecking order in the whole Alpha maleness thing. Ellie could see it when Devon sought John out, asked him for advice about the best workouts and, just like everyone else who orbited around John, responded a bit out of proportion to his approval.

Chuck was probably the most eager for John's good opinion, and Ellie got the impression that it was sometimes given grudgingly. She had seen John raise his eyebrows and nod slightly when he was particularly impressed with something Chuck had done or said, even if he didn't always let Chuck see it. And thinking that he wasn't getting it seemed to make Chuck seek out his approval even more.

Sarah, on the other hand, appeared to be on a different level with John than everyone else, which was odd, considering they had never met, as far as Ellie knew, before joining the Bartowski circle. Ellie had seen the two of them whispering at different times, off in their own world in a corner, and it would puzzle her no end as she watched them covertly, since they gave the impression of a married couple that had been together for a long time and knew each other inside and out. Ellie, after all their years together, wasn't that comfortable with Devon yet.

But even Sarah deferred to John's opinion in subtle ways, such as when she'd make a firm statement about something but then slide her eyes to the side to see what his reaction was to whatever it was she had said.

And then there was Morgan. Well, Morgan would seek approval from a fire hydrant, so that wasn't really a valid consideration, but he was right in there with the rest of them as far as John was concerned. Including Ellie.

Because Ellie was guilty of seeking John's approval as well, and she had stopped counting the many times she flushed and felt inordinately pleased when John put a first forkful or spoonful or handful of her cooking into his mouth and chewed attentively, contemplating the texture and the taste, and then, pushing the mouthful to one side, smiling through a smear of chocolate frosting or whatever it was to let out an appreciative, "Mmmmm, good," as though he couldn't even wait long enough to swallow the whole thing before making sure Ellie knew he was enjoying it.

One time, John was chewing and tasting and testing some new dish that Ellie had high hopes for and, as she waited for his verdict, watching his jaw moving up and down and from side to side, his eyelids half-closed, fluttering, his chin pointing slightly into the air so Ellie could see his Adam's apple moving in and out as he swallowed, she was surprised to feel the muscles of her vagina suddenly contract and the heat surge up her abdomen and into her neck as it added a pink glow to her cheeks.

After he expressed his appreciation verbally and Ellie thanked him, she hurriedly excused herself from the table under the pretext of needing to pee when what she actually needed was to clean away the warm, slippery fluid that had already wet her panties and was threatening to seep through to her outer clothing. From then on, she made a point of not watching him too closely while he was eating, instead looking at her own plate or moving her gaze around to whoever else was at her table.

Ellie, closing her eyes at the memory, slipped her hand downwards towards her crotch, squirming a bit in anticipation. Eyes flying back open, she stopped her hand in its travels and gasped as she realized what she had been about to do. She had been about to masturbate while thinking of another man, and the guilt was as sharp as a razor in her stomach, making her sit up out of the water with a horrified look on her face.

It was the closest by a mile that Ellie had ever come to cheating on her dear Devon, and she held her head in her hands, pressing her palms against her fiery cheeks in mortification.

But was it cheating, technically? Ellie wasn't too sure about this anymore, and she relaxed again and began to imagine what really cheating on Devon with John would be like.

First, they would flirt lightly. She would lower her lashes and smile coyly or walk away from him swaying her hips. He would "accidentally" brush her skin with his hand or come up close behind her to let her feel the heat from his body on her spine. They would smile and laugh and talk about inconsequential things, all the time feeling a light tingle along the surface of their arms as the hairs stood on end and they leaned towards each other.

As he was leaving on a Sunday, he would take her hand at the door to shake it, saying, "Thank you for the great evening, Ellie. Supper was delicious," devouring her with his eyes, and Ellie would look at him boldly, giving his hand a tight squeeze, putting a particular emphasis on her words that was only for him as she replied, "Thank you, John, it was nothing. Please come again and it will be better next time, I guarantee."

Then one afternoon when Devon was at the hospital on a double shift and Chuck and Sarah were occupied somewhere else and Morgan was away on Mars so he wouldn't pop in unexpectedly the way he was liable to, John would be there at her door on some little errand, maybe the classic "cup of sugar" or merely to ask if he could come in and share a coffee.

She would let him in graciously, explaining that they were alone and it would give her an opportunity to show him some new recipes she had found. They would go into the kitchen, John following a little closer behind her than was necessary, and she would stop abruptly so his body bumped into hers. She would spin around, hand to her mouth, apologizing, and John, his arms raised to catch her in the event that she should fall from the impact, would begin to apologize too until the words stuck in his throat and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his abdomen. Her arms would snake up his chest, palms flat against the broad musculature, and they would wind around and stop at the base of his head, where she would cradle the back of his neck tenderly in her hands.

He would groan slightly as he looked into her clear, willing eyes and say, "Ellie, are you sure?" and she would reply, "Yes, John, I'm sure," and his lips would descend to hers, contacting them, softly at first, his mouth opening slightly as he eased his tongue between her lips and teeth to meet hers, and he would hold her tighter as their tongues slipped around each other, their bodies pressed together exchanging heat.

His erection would make itself felt through the thin fabric of her scrubs, and she would drop her hands from behind his head, undoing his belt and sliding down the zipper, putting her fingers under the elastic waistband of his boxers and feeling the springy hair there before grasping his swelling member with both hands. He would moan loudly as they continued to kiss, using one hand to pull his pants out of the way so they could fall to the floor, and Ellie would back him up against the humming refrigerator while pulling his boxers down, finally breaking off their kiss to go down on her knees in front of him, listening to his short panting breaths and smiling up into his desire-filled eyes before taking his quivering cock into her mouth.

Ellie had seen thousands of naked boys and men during her career, all sizes and colors, and she was familiar with basic body shapes and proportions from her medical studies. Judging from John Casey when he was clothed, she could see just what he would be like without his clothes on, and she shifted a bit in the tub, eyes still closed, and licked her lips sensually.

Given his age, he would be cut, and she would run her tongue slowly around the base of the head of his penis as he braced himself against the fridge. Applying friction to the surface of the head with the top of her tongue for a few moments, she would then swirl the pointed tip around his circumference and move her head down until she had as much of him as she could accommodate in her mouth. She would use the muscles at the top of her throat to suck on the head gently, at the same time stroking the shaft with both hands, slipping them up and down in the saliva that she allowed to run out of her mouth and down his long, thick hardness. Finally, she would let go with one spit-slicked hand, inserting it between his legs to gently cup his scrotum, and he would bend his knees and part his thighs, allowing her to massage him lightly while she continued sucking and stroking.

When she had worked him up so he was beginning to make little forward thrusting motions with his hips, she would stop and let go of him, rising back up to her full height as she listened to his groans of disappointment and, grasping the bottom edge of her scrubs top, she would –

"Ellie! Where are my blue bike shorts?!"

Devon's shouting broke into Ellie's thoughts and she once again sat up sharply out of the water, startled.

Trying to answer right away so Devon wouldn't think anything strange was going on, Ellie croaked out, "They're in the –" and stopped to clear her throat before trying again after Devon's loud "What?" from right outside the bathroom door.

"They're in the top drawer, I said," Ellie yelled, sorry immediately after that she hadn't managed to keep the sound of annoyance out of her voice.

"Thanks, babe," was Devon's reply, and Ellie rolled her eyes to the ceiling in relief, not hesitating now to pick up her fantasy where she had left off.

* * *

So what exactly was Casey going to do about this problem, because it was starting to take up an awfully large part of his brain, parts that should be thinking about the security of the American population and weaponry and his bonsai.

It seemed pretty clear right off the bat that she was strictly verboten, off limits, a no fly zone. But then why was he so consumed by thoughts of her? It should be a straightforward matter to put her out of his mind and, other than necessary contact, just get on with his usual workday. And the answer to that question, he thought, summed the matter up rather neatly.

Ellie Bartowski was not just any woman.

He had seen it right away, the first time he had sat at her dining room table and watched her fuss over the food, checking to make sure everyone had three times more than enough, her dark curved eyebrows drawn towards the center of her brow in concentration as she surveyed her domain. Casey had felt the impulse to obey this woman, no matter what her request, just to please her so she would relax her face into that warm Mother Earth smile of hers and direct it at him. Because then he could look deeply into her eyes.

And more often than not, what he saw in her eyes excited him well beyond his expectations.

Casey's world was full of smart women, sexy women, dangerous women, but he had never before met one quite like Ellie Bartowski. And Casey was knowledgeable enough about women and himself to know why. She was the perfect balance of intellect, femininity and tigress. And she was definitely a tigress; he could see it as plain as day.

It was in the way she did everything with a fierce intensity, from talking about her work to her cooking and housekeeping and all the way through to the way she tended to Devon's needs and protected her little brother. She was queen of her territory and wasn't afraid to defend it against all comers. And Casey had been very glad to be accepted into her crowded extended family.

One time, he was there to see her in action. They were all sitting in the living room after dinner, resting and loosening belts and rubbing full stomachs, when Chuck started to tell about how Big Mike had chewed him out a few days before at work. Ellie suddenly sat up straight and glared at Chuck as if he had been the wrongdoer and, eyes flashing, explained to Chuck in no uncertain terms that he must go to Big Mike the next day and tell him that she, Ellie Bartowski, would not stand to have her brother treated in this shoddy fashion.

As she worked up her indignation and turned her sparking eyes in his direction, Casey suddenly realized that he was developing an erection, and pretty quickly too. There wasn't enough time to do much more than incoherently excuse himself, leap up from the couch and run to the bathroom, where he frantically jerked off into the bathtub, rinsing it clean and spraying copious amounts of air freshener to give a plausible explanation for his hurried sprint, just in case there was somebody close enough to the bathroom door to hear it.

But now he was tired of being John Casey, neighbor John, Chuck's friend John, an extra mouth to feed, just one more person who looked to Ellie for the healing sustenance that she was always so ready to provide. Casey wanted her to himself, wanted her to shut everybody else out, wanted her to pay attention solely to him, even if it was only for a couple of hours, so he could help Ellie release the tigress part of herself that he suspected she was not even aware of, and he settled himself farther down into the chair and let his mind drift off to picture exactly how this situation might come about.

First, they would flirt lightly. He would hold her glance longer than usual as he told her how good her peach cobbler was or casually place his hands in the small of her back before squeezing by her in that tight spot around behind the dining room table. She would smile and reach up to wipe some crumbs from the corner of his mouth when nobody was looking and continue brushing after they had fallen to the floor or "accidentally" touch his hand with her soapy one as she passed him a plate to dry. They would talk about recipes and sit close together at the table, smiling into each other's eyes as Chuck and the rest of the honorary Bartowskis, uninterested in cooking, ignored them, not noticing as they dropped their voices to create a bubble of intimacy in a crowded room.

When it was time to leave after Sunday dinner, they would stand at the door for a moment and say nothing, and he would slowly smile and look into her eyes. She would return his smile with one of her own, her eyes smoky, and, as he turned to go out the door, she would quickly grasp the ends of his fingers and just as quickly let them go. Without acknowledging what she had done, he would return to his apartment.

Then one afternoon, when Devon was away mountain biking and Chuck and Sarah were sitting on a beach somewhere trying to pretend there was nothing between them and Morgan was – Casey didn't give a fuck where Morgan was as long as it was far away – he would look through his window and see Ellie come into the courtyard, struggling with some bags of groceries. He would rush outside, locking his door behind him, and relieve her of the bags, following her to her door as she fished in her purse for her keys, saying, "Oh, John, thank you. I almost dropped them."

Then they would go inside and put the groceries away, and as he was bending down to put some ice cream into the freezer drawer at the bottom of the fridge, he would feel the unmistakable touch of her palm on his ass. He would look over his shoulder inquiringly at her, a mischievous look around her mouth, and she would slide her hand between his legs and massage the inside of his thigh and say, "Is this okay, John?" and he would answer, his voice husky, "You're damn right it's okay, Ellie," and as he was closing the drawer and turning around to face her, her hand would move around to the front, once again gliding in between his legs and running over the insides of his thighs before moving up to cup his scrotum through the fabric of his pants.

Before things got too carried away downstairs, she would remove her hand and run both palms up his abdomen and chest as his arms wound around her tightly, and she would raise up on her tiptoes, finally bringing her hands up to the back of his neck, pulling his head down to her upturned face and slightly parted lips, and she would kiss him with her soft, full mouth, her tongue reaching in past his lips and teeth to tease his tongue, all the while moaning deep in her throat.

She would then pull one of his hands from behind her back and drag it downwards, pushing it up under her short pleated skirt, directing his fingertips underneath the crotch of her panties and holding them there so they could brush the opening to her vagina, and he would take over from her, inserting three fingers into her, just a little at first, and begin making wide circles to play the muscle, pushing in deeply as he feels her wetness start to cover him.

He would then remove his fingers as they continued to kiss, placing both hands now underneath her skirt, the palms under her buttocks, and lift her into the air, letting her wrap her legs around his waist, and he would walk into the dining room, shoving a chair out of the way with his foot, and bend over to deposit her gently on the table. Pulling a cushion from the chair, he would place it under her head and then, as she lay her head back and closed her eyes, he would remove her sandals, then draw her pink panties off with both hands. She would undo her skirt and slip it off as well so she could have an unobstructed view, and he would bend over her and smile before running his tongue around and into her navel.

Continuing with little tickling motions, he would trace a slippery trail to the beginning of her pubic hair, positioning himself so that her legs were apart and over his shoulders, her ass at the edge of the table, and he would massage her buttocks as her breathing became quicker and shallower. He would blow a stream of air, ruffling the curly, dark hair, causing her to squirm, and he would pull her labia apart with his fingers and direct his breath at the moist, glistening opening and the surrounding tissue that was now beginning to swell.

Ellie would moan and buck a bit at the sensation, raising herself up on her elbows to watch as he stops blowing and inserts his tongue, covering her with his lips, warming her up again as the heat from her insides surges into his mouth. He would curl his tongue upwards inside of her, stiffening the end to push it hard against her upper vaginal wall, moving with bold strokes over the sensitive spot there and pushing two fingers inside her to work on the opposite surface as her juices begin to pour out of her onto his face and hands and she falls back down to the tabletop, crying out sharply.

She would raise her head again, fire in her eyes, and he would move his mouth to the outside, once again inserting three fingers into her, and begin to lick her clitoris, now using teasing flicks with the end of his tongue, now laying the top surface of it over the small muscle and moving his head so she could feel the friction.

She would be calling out his name now, "John, oh, John," and he would continue licking but withdraw his fingers to make both hands available to undo his belt and fly, and as he pulled down –

Shit! The phone was ringing, and he removed his hand from under the elastic waistband of his boxers where he had placed it only a moment before, putting his glass on the table and picking up the phone to answer the call.

Glancing at the caller I.D., he cleared his throat first and activated the phone.

"Casey, secure," he said, a little sharper than he had intended.

It was General Beckman, calling to set up an early morning briefing in the apartment. Casey listened attentively, finishing with, "Yes, ma'am, uh-huh, yes. That's fine, ma'am, no problem. Of course, General," and he flipped the phone closed and tossed it back onto the table.

Sighing, he wondered if that woman ever slept and, adding more scotch and ice to his glass, he put her out of his mind and brought his thoughts back to where he had left off.


	3. The Fantasy Continues

_**Warning: descriptions of heterosexual situations and coarse language.**_

Chapter 3: The Fantasy Continues

Okay. So – oh, yeah. Grasping the bottom edge of her scrubs top, she would pull it up slowly, revealing first her abdomen, skin stretched tightly over the ribs as her arms continued upwards, then her breasts would appear, encased in a lacy bra, and finally, her face again as her head came through the hole of the shirt, and she would see John's hungry eyes on her as he leaned back against the fridge, transfixed, trembling slightly in anticipation.

Throwing her top to one side, she would grasp his hands and put them around her back, and he would unhook her bra and draw it off and over her arms, tossing it onto the small heap of clothes that was beginning to form nearby. Kissing him once again but breaking off as he tries to deepen the kiss, she would bend down and run her breasts over and around his still-damp cock, catching and releasing the head in her soft, wet mouth a few times to tease him.

When he begins to gasp and pull her towards his hips, she would –

Ellie paused in her thoughts and sat up again, frowning. Shouldn't she feel strange, fantasizing about someone so much older? She didn't have daddy issues that she hadn't realized before, did she? So where was this unsettling feeling coming from?

First of all, John wasn't that much older, certainly not old enough to be her father. Ellie was 31 and he was probably in his late 30s, 40 at the outside, so that couldn't be what was bothering her. Maybe it was his demeanor that made him seem so much older. He had such an air of authority and mastery of himself that made Devon, who was obviously mature enough to be an experienced and capable physician, seem like a boy in comparison. Ellie shivered as she thought of John's unadorned, unapologetic masculinity that called out to the feminine part of her like a clear, sweet high tone from a trumpet. He was a man with nothing to prove to anyone, and she found him beyond exciting.

And, besides, Ellie had never thought of her father the way she was thinking of John Casey, and she brought her mind back to her secret place of desire.

Crouching down and pulling his boxers the rest of the way to the floor so he could step out of them, then removing his shoes and socks, she would take both his hands and lead him into the living room, where he would stoop down to fondle her breasts and nuzzle the side of her neck as she undid his shirt buttons. Running her hands over his chest, still covered by his undershirt, she would kick off her sneakers and stand passively, raising her feet one by one as he pulled off her scrubs pants, panties and socks. He would stand upright again and take off his shirt and undershirt, dropping them to the floor and, both finally naked, they would embrace and press their bodies together, kissing deeply and smoothing their hands slowly over each other's warm flesh.

Ellie would allow him to lay her down on the couch on her side, and he would get on beside her, still facing her. As they continued to kiss, he would ease his hand between her thighs, lightly tease her labia apart and, with a swirling motion, insert his fingers into her and move them around inside, alternately rubbing the inner surfaces with his fingertips and corkscrewing his hand as he slipped them in and out of her. He would raise his uppermost knee towards her hip, resting the weight of his muscular thigh on hers, and push his hips in and out, sliding his erection between them over her pubic hair and clitoris, the combined frictions causing her to shudder and moan.

Reaching down and grasping his firm member by the shaft, she would stop his motions long enough to allow her to take in and exhale a deep breath, then shift herself to a position underneath him, spreading her knees apart widely, her breath coming out in short pants, her eyes on fire.

His eyes, a little cloudy now, would still look deeply into hers, and he would hold his body slightly above her on forearms and knees, waiting for her to guide him in. As he slowly enters her, he would let out a long, loud groan at the sensation and she would cry out on a high note, "Oh, John, John," and pull his mouth back to hers again.

Once he had slid his full length into her, he would stop, and Ellie, internal muscles stretched and fully alive to the messages being sent to her brain by sensitive nerve endings, would begin to move her hips to start the friction that would heighten her pleasure even more. John, eager to fulfill both their needs, would pump in and out, trying to withdraw as far as possible at first, then shortening his thrusts as his excitement grows and he increases the speed of his pelvis, the muscles of his buttocks clenching tightly under Ellie's hands and adding a little extra thrust when she digs her fingernails into the flesh.

He would cry out at first from the surprise, then smile dazedly and redouble his efforts, breathing heavily and dropping his forehead to the couch beside Ellie's neck, panting his hot breath onto her shoulder. No longer withdrawing, he would now be pushing her upwards with each stroke, the top of her head saved by a cushion as the couch moves from side to side and back again, making a rhythmic squeaking noise.

He would turn his head and groan into her ear, "Oh, Ellie, my sweet, sweet, Ellie," as he tries to concentrate long enough to kiss and lick her neck, and she would arch her head back into the cushions, her eyes closed tightly as she switches her attention from her searing loins to the tingling hairs on her neck and back downwards again.

Ellie would be able to feel him pushing high up into her and she would do her best not to slide away, tilting her pelvis to help him go even deeper as she senses the beginning of her orgasm. Crying out again, this time incoherently, she would stifle the sound by sucking hard on the side of his neck, wanting to brand him as her own.

Oh, my. Where had that one come from? Ellie had never wanted to do that to Devon. Why had that thought occurred to her now? She searched her mind and discovered that this is exactly what she would want to do to John. Surprised that there would be such a marked difference in the way she thought of sex with Devon and potential sex with John, she decided to explore this new development a little further.

Well, as she had already reviewed, Ellie had never been a pursuer. She hadn't needed to be. The boys and finally Devon all came to her. In fact, she had never initiated sex with Devon, not in all their years together. Whenever he wanted sex was fine with her and more than adequate. She only resorted to masturbation when Devon was away for any length of time, say, on a camping trip for a week, and had never used much less owned a vibrator.

And this was the thought that had led to her earlier epiphany. Her strong attraction to John was singular not only in the fact of its existence but that she suddenly felt so sexually aggressive when she was around him. And, as her fantasy was now revealing to her, uncharacteristically aggressive even when he was nowhere near her.

He was her antidote to death.

Because John Casey vibrated with life. It came off of him in waves. It wasn't something that he did overtly. There was no "look at me" to him at all; on the contrary, he seemed to be mostly holding back, and Ellie wondered what it would be like if he let his guard down so she could get a taste of the unchecked power of his personality.

And he was even more than that. He was sex in its most primal form. Just thinking about him made Ellie heat up in a rather embarrassing way.

Figuring she might as well go for it, as Ellie closed her eyes and resumed her little mental adventure, she moved her hands under the water to her vagina, inserting the fingers of one hand as far as she could and wiggling them while beginning to massage her clitoris with two fingers of the other hand.

Mmmmmmmm. With John deep inside her, pushing hard and fast, she would register the feeling of his belly hair as it rubbed against her abdomen, the sweat slick between them making small sucking noises as they slid back and forth over each other. It would be odd to feel that bit of fuzzy tummy pudge but certainly not unpleasant. Not that John was fat, exactly. Ellie had noticed a tiny bit of softness around his middle, and since she was used to the unyielding muscle of Devon's smooth abs, she noted what she imagined the difference would feel like and thought that she might rather enjoy it.

She would wet her hand in her mouth and reach down now, twisting a bit and stretching her arm over his back and buttocks so she could massage his scrotum and the very root of his penis behind it, and he would start at the sudden jolt of sensation, raising his head to look at her in appreciation. A moment later, he would react to the new stimulation by holding his breath and arching the small of his back, holding in position as he begins to ejaculate, making a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and Ellie would start to writhe underneath him, not wanting the motion to stop, finally achieving enough extra friction so that she too would be able to hold her breath, crying out a final, "John!" as she climaxes, feeling strong, pulsing waves both from herself and from him.

Ellie was now enjoying a part of her fantasy in reality as she shuddered and moaned deep in her throat, keeping herself from crying out as she came, jerking in the water and causing some of it to splash over the sides of the tub.

Finally coming to rest, she withdrew her fingers and jumped a little as they popped out, her now-sensitized nerves responding to the extra stimulus. Panting for a few more moments and opening her eyes, she smiled and, still imagining him lying on top of her as they each caught their breath and recovered enough to smile shyly at one another and kiss once more, this time slowly and tenderly, Ellie whispered "Thank you," to the steamy bathroom air.

* * *

Shifting in the chair to tug at his boxer shorts and free himself from the elastic waistband, Casey casually grasped his penis as he took a final swig from his glass of scotch. Putting the glass down and letting out a satisfied "Ahhhh," after the liquor had rushed down his throat, he began stroking himself lightly as he continued to ponder the situation he found himself in with Ellie.

Now that he had her on the table and warmed up, he would have to play her a bit, throw her a few curve balls to see how she reacted and then decide how best to proceed.

He would continue licking but withdraw his fingers to make both hands available to undo his belt and fly, and as he pulled down his pants and boxer shorts, he would remove his mouth from her and kick off his shoes, taking his socks off while he was bent over to pull his pants free of his feet, finally pushing them aside as he straightened up. He would pause for a moment, letting Ellie get a good look at his erection, assessing her reaction to the sight of him.

He would then position himself between her legs again, holding his cock on the horizontal so he could push just the end into her, moving it in and out by fractions of an inch and squeezing the base of the shaft with his grip to keep himself from getting worked up too quickly.

Ellie would look up, puzzled as to why he wasn't entering her fully, and try to move towards him as he backed off just enough to keep her looking for more. When her buttocks were almost too far off the edge of the table, he would let go with his hand and plunge into her in one strong, smooth motion, causing her to gasp, eyes widening as she takes the full force of his thick cock.

Head thrown back and arms reaching out for him, she would sit up eagerly when she feels his hands under her back, and he would bend his knees and pick her up, settling her firmly in place as her legs wrap around his hips and she hooks her arms tightly around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder, breathing heavily.

Turning quickly, he would move towards her bedroom and, ignoring her objections when she realizes where he is headed, he would go inside and place her carefully on her bed – hers and Devon's – and silence her protests with a few hard, jerky thrusts and a firm kiss, covering her mouth with his and coaxing her with his tongue against her lips to relax and open to him.

Finally accepting the situation or, more likely, forgetting about her misgivings, Ellie would open her eyes and whimper for more. Pulling his head away from hers and removing his penis would cause her to reach out for him as he moves around to the side of the bed to lean over her once again.

He would undo her blouse and pull it off, followed by her bra and, bending over, he would kiss her breast and take the nipple into his mouth, using his supple lips to bring it to a hard peak, repeating this on the other side as she clutches his head to her, running her fingers through his hair and moaning as her hips rock, wanting him inside her again, knees bent and wide apart, heels digging into the mattress.

Placing one knee on the edge of the bed and bending over her, he would ease her up with his hands over onto her knees close to the top of the bed, placing her palms flat against the wall just above the headboard, then get up and position himself behind her, resting on one knee, the other foot braced on the bed for traction. Locating her vaginal opening once again and entering her, this time very slowly, he would reach around under her arms and fondle her breasts, massaging them firmly.

Head hanging down between her shoulders, Ellie would pant erratically as he continued to thrust into her, now speeding up and powering harder, causing her to turn her head and glare at him, her eyes throwing off the sparks he had been hoping to bring out once again.

He would have a bit of a hard time containing himself, watching her eyes, and would have to remember to concentrate on his Tantric mantra of detachment – not exactly baseball statistics but with the same overall effect, like a long-lasting mental Viagra – so he could continue to ram into her without coming until she gave him the reaction he was looking for.

Casey paused in his thoughts to consider the options at this point. She might cry out or she might start to cry. She might struggle, trying to get away from him. She might even spit at him like a cat. That would be the best one for his purposes, and he would continue for as long as it took to get some reaction from her that he gauged, for her, to be out of the ordinary.

Because even though she was a mature woman, 31, in fact, from the information in her file, Ellie had never had sex like he could give her. Casey could see from the glow of her skin that she had frequent sex, probably more than the average woman her age. But the glow that should have been radiating out from her center and telegraphing her sensuality to anyone near her, the kind of glow a woman gets when her man satisfies her fully and completely, was sealed up so tightly inside that even Casey, with his natural ability to identify and attract the most feminine of females, could see it only occasionally.

Casey wasn't blaming Devon in the least for this omission. It's just that most guys weren't even aware of it as a possibility, which was a shame and a waste of a good woman, because he was sure Devon was capable of truly satisfying Ellie. He had played squash several times with the man and after, in the showers, had seen that Devon was more than equipped for the purpose, but Casey was certain that Devon never gave any thought to Ellie's real needs. If he had, Casey wouldn't be running through this particular scenario in his head and stroking himself frantically in his living room and shooting all over the front of his shirt.

Damn! Forgot to use the stupid mantra in real life!

Casey sighed as he surveyed the mess, chuckling to himself and marveling at the power this woman seemed to have over him.

He pushed the foot rest of the chair in and stood, careful to hold the ends of his shirt so nothing dripped onto the floor, and went upstairs to wash and change. When he came back down, he was wearing his favorite Japanese robe, the dark blue silk one with the embroidered red and gold dragon on the back, and he settled into the chair once again, ready to resume his exploration of the fascinations of Ellie Bartowski.

Let's see, warmed up, teased, pummeled – right. Since Ellie hadn't had the benefit of Casey's tender ministrations up to this point in her life, it would probably take a little more work on his part to liberate the tigress, this most basic part of her personality.

He would pull out and get her to lie down on the bed again on her back. Placing a firm pillow underneath her hips to tilt her pelvis up, he would once again enter her and continue his hard, rhythmic thrusts. Since he would be able to achieve deeper penetration this way, Ellie would buck in surprise and finally settle to a corresponding rhythm, helping him to reach as far as possible and, after he wets his fingers and applies them to her clitoris, still hitting her hard, the added friction on the outside would be enough to push her over the edge, and she would cling to him, jerking around under him spasmodically, starting to cry and begging him to stop when the sensation overwhelms her.

But he doesn't stop. This is just the beginning of what he is looking for, and as she moans with the sensory overload and keeps pleading with him to stop, he continues until she starts a second orgasm, then, a few minutes later, a third, each one occurring at successively shorter intervals.

And then it happens. Ellie would no longer be struggling or crying or throwing him angry looks but would match him, stroke for stroke, wanting more of what she now knows he can give her, and this time, she would almost pass out when she comes. Casey would yell loudly as her vagina clamps around him, causing him to shake all over, his cock pulsing rapidly to overcome her strong muscles, depositing his semen deep inside of her.

_Well_, Casey thought, _I'm certainly not going to have any trouble getting to sleep tonight, at least_, as he became aware that he was once again stroking a full erection, robe open, his breathing short and sharp. He started to moan deep in his chest and, surprising to Casey, at least, the words that came out of his mouth were, "Ellie, Ellie, Ellie." He wasn't usually that sentimental, but it helped him to picture the last little scenario again, getting him quickly to his release. Prepared this time, he came into a towel that he had placed within reach in the event it was needed and, after he had recovered, used a dry corner of it to clean himself up, finally popping it into a plastic bag he had put on the floor.

So, according to his estimation, there would be some favorable results in his little personal project, but he wouldn't be finished yet. Closing his robe to cover his slightly sticky, shrinking penis, Casey pondered where to take his thoughts next. Ah, yes, this would do it.


	4. The Tigress Emerges

_**Warning: descriptions of heterosexual situations and coarse language.**_

Chapter 4: The Tigress Emerges

Ellie, still sitting in the tub, was starting to get a little cold. She checked the ends of her fingers, saw the beginnings of wrinkles in the skin and decided to get out. But she couldn't leave the bathroom yet. If Devon was already in the bedroom, no more fantasizing about John, and if she was in the bedroom alone, there was no telling when he might decide to go to bed, so she would have to stay locked in for just a little while longer.

She got up out of the tub, leaving the plug in place so the sound of the water running down the drain wouldn't give her away. Grabbing a big, fluffy towel, she dried herself off and then wrapped it around her body as she tried to decide what to do.

She had just done the laundry yesterday, and the big pile of clean towels caught her eye. That was it!

Taking the towels from the shelf, she arranged them on the floor in a makeshift bed, reasoning that it was just for a few more minutes and they could easily be put back. No one but she would know that she had been fantasizing about sex with John, and she sat down on the floor beside the tub, finally reclining and closing her eyes so she could concentrate.

John would kiss her tenderly and stroke her face, whispering soft, loving phrases into her ear – wait.

Ellie paused and opened her eyes. This was her fantasy. And it was not about Devon. So why should she imagine that John would act like Devon in bed? She decided to let her mind go where it would and closed her eyes again, settling back onto the towels with an eager smile on her face, curious to find out where her imagination would take her.

He would shift his weight from her and they would rest for a while, warming each other with their bodies. Looking into his eyes as they spoke about nothing, John's arm around her holding her close, the fingers of his other hand brushing her temple, she would smile and suddenly no longer be content to just lie there with him.

First, she would kiss him – his lips, his eyelids, his nose, his forehead. Then she would work her way down to his neck, pushing with her hands on his hips so he was lying on his back on the couch. Traveling downwards, she would spend some time on his chest, tickling with her fingers lightly through the hair there, settling her mouth on a nipple and sucking and biting lightly, looking up to see him raising an arm and propping his head up to enable him to watch her, his face split in a languorous grin.

Then she would move lower, cradling his expanding penis in one hand while running her tongue down the length of it, getting it good and wet as she continues on to his scrotum and teases it with the tip of her tongue while encouraging him to bend his knees, one hand pushing under a thigh.

Trading hands, she would continue to stroke his firming cock slowly and smoothly, all the way up and down its length, and place her other hand behind his scrotum, cupping his testicles and undulating her fingers to massage them slightly, still licking and flicking from the front.

As he moans and twists his hips at the sensation, she would stop licking and take one of his testicles into her mouth, carefully holding it there while moving her tongue from side to side underneath, switching after a few moments to the other side and finally releasing him and bringing her mouth back up to his cock, fully erect now and pulsing in her hand.

Pushing his legs back down flat on the couch, she would position herself with one knee beside his hips, the other foot on the floor and slide him slowly into her until she has all of him. Then, lying flat along his abdomen, belly to belly, with his penis in place, she would reach up and bring his face to hers, kissing him and biting his lower lip as she rotates her hips, sliding him in and out of her in a circular fashion.

He would raise his knees once again, helping her with the motion by holding her in place and pushing and releasing her upper legs with his thighs, and she would feel the rasping of his chest hair on her nipples and breasts, moaning into his mouth and sucking on his tongue while running her fingers through his hair.

Finally, when she was almost ready to scream from the pleasurable sensations flooding her body, she would release him and sit upright, raising herself up to the full extent of his cock and pushing back down again slowly, still making circles with her pelvis and speeding up the strokes when he starts to moan loudly and pant heavily.

She would play with her own breasts, massaging them and thumbing the nipples, checking to make sure he was watching, then let him take over as she wets the fingers of one hand and places them on her clitoris, no longer rising and falling but sitting squarely on him for the maximum possible penetration. The friction she creates on the little strip of muscle would cause her to jerk and move her hips erratically as her eyes close and she drops her head down, spine bent, letting her hair fall over her face and onto his chest.

She would throw her head back and use one hand to brush the hair out of her eyes and, just as she begins to raise and lower again, still using her fingers, she would feel the strong ripples of her vaginal muscles, and this would begin his orgasm, causing him to grasp her hips tightly and hold her down on him, digging his heels into the couch to help push his hips up, and Ellie would rise into the air on him, helping him to come by flexing and releasing her internal muscles in a classic Kegel exercise.

His eyes would squeeze tightly shut, his mouth in a grimace, as if in pain, and he would call out incoherently, straining his legs and buttocks, back arched, his breathing stopped. She would feel the molten heat of his semen on the inside mixing with her fire and prompting her to work her muscles harder, milking every last ounce from him greedily, and he would finally fall back down to the couch and open his eyes, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. She would once again lie on his abdomen and chest as her breathing begins to slow, head to one side, a contented smile on her face, and they would rest there, his arms wrapped around her, her hands at the back of his neck, until his penis shrinks, some semen spilling back out when she can no longer keep him in her.

She would sigh and look at him looking at her and say, "Oh, Devon, that was wonderful."

Hold the phone. Now what was happening? This was all very confusing, and Ellie shook her head to try and clear it, wondering why she had been thinking of John one minute and Devon the next. Unable to figure it out and deciding not to try, she removed sticky fingers from between her legs and stood up, a little groggy, feeling the residual heat and wetness.

She cleaned herself up, let the water out of the tub and tidied the bathroom, picking up the towels that were on the floor and putting them back on the shelf.

Gathering her discarded clothes and throwing them into the clothes hamper, she unlocked the door and turned out the light, clutching her towel around her as she walked to the bedroom, hoping Devon was already asleep.

* * *

Lying on the bed, wrapped in each others arms, their legs intertwined to bring their bodies as close together as possible, Casey would kiss Ellie tenderly and stroke her face, whispering soft, loving phrases into her ear. This would give them some recovery time and get Ellie used to his talking to her this way so he could institute the final part of his plan.

Casey paused again. That had sounded kind of cold, like it was some NSA mission or something that he was commissioned to execute. Well, spend enough time in this line of work and it was hard to break old habits. But under other circumstances, Casey could see that it would be entirely possible for him to fall in love with Ellie and spend the rest of his life doing everything he could for her, especially after he had broken her in, the way he was fantasizing.

Mentally shrugging, Casey figured that thought hadn't been according to the generally accepted definition of romance either but decided to continue in any case.

Whispering into her ear, he would encourage her to do the same, paying attention not only to what she was saying but the way she was saying it. If it was just a long string of "That was amazing," and other clichés spoken in a light tone, he would know he had his work cut out for him. However, if she was saying something a little more inventive, maybe something about how great his cock was or how he had made her ovaries tremble, using a low voice coming from deep in her throat, he could easily lead her to the two words that she needed to learn: "I want."

These were the two most important words for someone like Ellie. She was so used to giving and having men take that she never asked for what she wanted, what she needed. And now that Casey had shown her exactly what it was she needed, she should never hesitate to ask for it as her due as a well-rounded sexual being. And one helluva hot woman.

And she was sure to be a quick learner. As much as Chuck acted like an idiot sometimes he really was intelligent, and Ellie would probably be just as bright in her own way. So it wouldn't be long before she was asking Casey for what she wanted, and she also wouldn't hesitate to begin taking it. And this is where things would really get fun for Casey, because he was the one who would have the privilege of giving it to her.

He would whisper into her ear between kisses, "What do you want, Ellie, do you want me to fuck you?" and she would maybe be taken aback by the language and stiffen. Or maybe she would whisper back, "Yes, John, I want you to fuck me." And he would continue on, "Ellie, do you want me to eat you out?" "Yes, John, I want you to eat me out."

When she had gotten used to the idea that it was okay to say it out loud, he would ask her the open-ended question: "What do you want me to do for you, Ellie?" and she would answer him boldly with, "I want you to fuck me up against the wall, John," and he would be a more than willing participant.

So there they would be, Ellie riding his cock, back against the wall, thighs around his hips, feet hooked behind him, her breasts brushing his chest as he summons up a reserve of energy from somewhere and gives it to her good. At least it would be easier to make it last longer this time, even without a mantra, and Ellie would help him out by flashing that look at him again, the one that gives him his second wind as he grunts with every push up and deep into her.

She would squirm around and cry out, demanding more friction, more sliding, biting the side of his neck and digging her fingernails into his shoulders, and he would hitch her higher up the wall so her legs are around his ribcage, giving him more room to manoeuvre his pelvis back and forth, powering his cock in and out of her along most of its length and causing her to pant heavily through her nose, moaning noisily.

She would start to come, and this time she wouldn't try to break away but would encourage him to continue, saying, "Faster, harder, fuck me, John," into his ear, her long, dark hair getting in his face and falling down between them, sticking in the rivulets of sweat running from their heads and down both their bodies.

Then he would thrust upwards and stop abruptly, hearing her growl deep in her chest, still wanting more as he comes, and even though he would like to give it to her, he's done and exhausted, unable to continue, barely able to breathe.

Then the tigress would really make her presence known, because Ellie wouldn't be finished yet. As he puts her feet onto the floor and lets his flaccid penis slip out of her, she would place her hands on his shoulders and turn him around, back to the wall, and straddle a muscular thigh, kissing him fiercely before he can catch his breath, and then, with inward-looking eyes, she would begin to move against his skin, the friction from the hair on his leg stimulating her vulvae, her only concern her own pleasure.

And he would do his best on shaky legs to stay in position for her, because this is the final stage of her liberation. First she let him give her what she wanted. Then she learned to ask for what she wanted. Now she was learning to take what she wanted, and he would be pleased – tired but pleased – as she has her final orgasm, leaving a wet slick of both their juices on his leg.

They would hold each other tightly, not saying anything as their chests heave, and then she would become the old Ellie again, thinking about cleaning up and getting dressed, looking at him shyly as if he didn't already know every part of her. But now the glow would be there, shining out from her so brightly that she would no longer be able to hide it.

Casey got up from the chair and tidied the table, picking up the plastic bag holding the soggy towel and taking the glass and ice bucket into the kitchen. He returned to the living room and made sure everything was in place for the morning briefing and turned out the light before going up the stairs to his bedroom.

After a quick shower, pee and tooth brushing, he got into bed, set the alarm and turned out the light. He looked into the darkness, thinking that if he had made a different choice, chosen a different path in life, Ellie could have been his and his alone, and he sighed at the futility of the thought and turned over, falling asleep moments later.

* * *

The next day, Ellie felt a tingle down her spine as she walked towards the apartment door. Changing her bag of groceries to her left arm and groping in her shoulder bag for the keys, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She unlocked the door and went in, and as she turned to shut the door, her hand still on the doorknob, she was sure she saw the blinds at Casey's window move. Surprised at the sudden sense of anticipation that flooded her mind, she shook her head to clear it and closed the door, going straight to the kitchen to unpack the groceries.

But that first jolt did nothing to prepare her for the rush of feeling that surged through her when she heard a light rap on the door, and she paused a moment before walking over to answer it, her brain repeating, _It's him, it's him_.

And finally, when she had opened the door to see that it was in fact John Casey standing there, a small brown paper package in his hand, her stomach lurched and she flushed as she recalled what she had been fantasizing about him the previous evening.

She collected herself a moment later, however, and invited him in. He passed by her and went into the living room, and when his back was towards her, Ellie frowned in puzzlement. Was she imagining things or had he reacted awkwardly to the sight of her as well? Before Ellie could decide, he had stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face her.

"Ellie," he began, and then cleared his throat and glanced at the floor for a moment before raising his head again to look straight at her. "We have to talk."

"Yes, John, we do," she replied, and Casey knew by the fact that Ellie had answered him with a statement and not a question that, even though she probably thought he was referring to a completely different matter, she was more than ready to unburden herself about their mutual dilemma.

Inviting him with a gesture to sit, Ellie sank to the couch, her wide eyes glued to him as he sat too, turning a bit to face her. When he reached out to take the hands that she had clasped together on her knees, she jerked them back quickly, leaning away from him, afraid of what his touch might do to her.

"Ellie, Ellie," he said softly, grasping her hands and prying the fingers apart so each one was held in his, "I'm here to help. Both of us."

Ellie frowned slightly at his words, but a moment later her features smoothed, and the look she finally turned to him was one of surprise.

"You know, don't you?" She said in wonder, and even though it was a rhetorical question, he nodded gravely and squeezed her hands slightly. Ellie paused, thinking quickly. "But you said to help both of us. You don't mean..."

"Yes, Ellie, that's just what I mean. I know you're attracted to me, just as I'm attracted to you, and since it's probably not something that should continue, I thought the best way to deal with it was directly."

Ellie nodded, digesting what he had just told her. Well, that was a shot for the old ego, anyways.

Suddenly seeing her way clear of a potentially awkward situation, Ellie smiled brightly and squeezed his hands in return.

"Thank you for saving me from myself, John," she said, now feeling completely comfortable to be alone with him.

"No problem, Ellie," he replied, giving her his broadest smile when he had seen the turn her thoughts had taken. "I think it's just better for everyone, don't you?"

"Oh, I agree, John, I agree," she chuckled, as they stood up together.

"Wait, I almost forgot!" Casey exclaimed, reaching down to the couch for the brown paper package. "Any time you're looking for some excitement, look no further than this."

He handed her the package and, as she was taking it from him, he bent down and lightly kissed her cheek. As he was straightening again, Ellie went up on her toes, wrapped one arm around his neck and kissed his cheek, then pressed the side of her face briefly to his before releasing him, and he turned and walked to the door, letting himself out.

Ellie stood for a moment looking at the closed door, a reflective smile on her face. Remembering the package, she frowned and ripped the paper open to reveal a hardcover book. Seeing the title, her face split into a large grin, and she laughed with pleasure as she read it aloud:

_"Spice Up Your Love Life: What To Do To Stay Together When You're Thinking of Cheating."_

* * *

Later that evening, Devon was sitting on the couch sipping on a green smoothie and watching an Ironman competition being broadcast live from the interior of British Columbia, Canada, when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he gasped aloud as he saw Ellie standing in the doorway, one hand on a hip thrust sideways, the other arm extended up the wall, and a sly, seductive smile on her face, dressed in a way he had never seen her dressed before.

His eyes focused on the top of her head, where her hair was pulled into two high pigtails, and moved to her face, luscious red lipstick making her lips appear even fuller than usual and slightly pouty. She was wearing a red gingham-checked blouse, the top buttons open low enough to reveal ample cleavage created by a specially engineered bra underneath.

As his eyes grew wider and moved lower, he noticed that the blouse tails were tied tightly up under her bust, followed by a large expanse of bare abdomen, and the cut-off jean shorts that she was wearing started a few inches south of her navel so that a thin line of pubic hair could be seen above the waistband as the smooth curve of her belly arched invitingly and disappeared beneath the fabric.

The legs of the jeans had been cut very high and left ragged, showing off to perfect effect her long, slim thighs and shapely calves, and the tantalizing ensemble was completed by red nail polish on the toes of her bare feet.

She was even chewing on the end of a long piece of straw, and Devon, whose attention was no longer on the television, smiled stupidly at her when she removed the straw from her mouth and said to him with a hill twang, "I hear it's Sadie Hawkins Day. And I choose you."

He was thoroughly enjoying the show when she turned her back to him and wiggled her bottom, but his eyes practically popped out of his head when she bent over, knees stiff, feet spread apart, pigtails swinging, and reached towards him between her thighs, slowly massaged her vulva through the denim fabric, then cocked a finger at him through her legs and wiggled it to indicate he was to follow her.

Ellie straightened up and sauntered out of the room, throwing Devin one last coquettish look over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Devon, momentarily frozen, suddenly gulped and pulled himself together, finally jumping up from the couch and hurriedly turning off the TV before running to their bedroom, where Ellie presented him with a battered straw hat to wear and tied a bandana around his neck before walking over and closing the bedroom door.

* * *

Around ten o'clock, as Casey sat in his pyjamas and robe, headphones over his ears, munching on a cookie while listening to Chuck snore, his curiosity finally got the better of him. With a couple of mouse clicks, he had switched his surveillance system to the pickup in Ellie and Devon's room, and he smiled as he heard Devon's voice, low and throaty, stuttering out, "Oh, Elly-May, Elly-May, oh, Ellie, oh, El, El, oh, ooooohhhh... Aaawww-sommme!"


End file.
